A Moment In A Million
by KristieConspiracy
Summary: Sometimes, it's just impossible to deny that there's an attraction between polar opposites. Draco and Hermione may well be aware of this. Series of one-shots for the Dramione prompt challenge over on CourtshipCounts[dot]livejournal. Set during Hogwarts or post-Hogwarts, and comply with the movie-verse or book-verse, depending on the prompt and my idea. Rated T just in case.
1. 01: Fear of the Thing Itself

**Fear of the Thing Itself**

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

_**Prompt 01:** Hermione hates returning to Malfoy Manor._

**Word count: **590

Harry Potter and the associated characters and world are © J.K. Rowling

* * *

The manor house was as huge as she remembered, pristine and elegant and haunting. It was as though the building managed to hold itself separate from its' neighbours, the very exterior emanating cold hostility.

Screams permeated her thoughts and Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, cleared her throat to cover the single whimper that she failed to suppress. Her throat was dry, her head was pounding, and she could feel the ghost of agony from the filthy word carved into her skin. Though her sleeves covered the scar, she felt as though the people around and far from her were staring, fixing an accusing gaze on her. Part of her felt that she didn't deserve to gaze upon the exterior of the majestic house.

Her self-esteem finally contributed its' two cents, an arrogant peep, declaring that the house didn't deserve to have her brown-eyed gaze upon it. She smiled faintly, recognising the voice that her confidence took. Now filled with a protective warmth, Hermione stepped forward and felt the coolness of the protective wards slip over and around her, encasing her in a sensation not unlike that of submerging oneself in a barrel of eye of newt.

The sensation passed and suddenly she was inside, her spine tingling. She passed gradually through the extravagant gardens, it taking what felt like hours to reach the front door.

She knocked.

The boom echoed through the house and, in an instant, a shrivelled house elf answered the door. Blinking sagely up at her, it took her to a seat, listened to her irequest, and vanished with an alarming crack.

Left alone in the hall she remembered, it didn't matter that this time it was bright and clean. In her mind, darkness and filth encroached, tainting her experience of the grandiose shelter. The tingling obscured her awareness, but she gradually began to shiver.

By the time the person she'd intended to see appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase, her teeth were chattering in her mouth as violently as if some fiend had jinxed her. Horrified, he called her name. "What are you doing here!"

"H-had to see you," she murmured, refusing to trip over her words. "A-apologise." She looked up at him, her bright eyes seeming too wide in her pale face.

He frowned in concern and practically tripped down the stairs in his uncharacteristically graceless rush to reach her. Once at her side, he bit his lip and knelt before her, taking both of her hands in his, rubbing small circles over her skin. "You shouldn't have. Hermione, I know how much you hate it here."

She shook her head violently, her teeth chattering even more as she did so, then cleared her throat in an attempt to allow herself to speak in a normal tone. "I do not."

"You do," he said, his tone full of pity. She hated it.

"I hate the bad memories," she snapped, her tone not allowing for a whimper.

"There aren't any good ones."

"There's _you_," she said, grimacing still, but her brown eyes honest on his silver orbs.

"Hermione…"

"Draco, I'm sorry, alright?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry for yelling at you in that restaurant. It was stupid and petty and childish, and – and I'm sorry." Her confidence was almost gone again, and she knew it. She was distracted, though, by the hug he pulled her into, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks and then to her forehead.

"Me, too," Draco Malfoy told Hermione, and in that moment, all was well.


	2. 02: Reading Habits

**Reading Habits**

**Charaters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

**Promt 02:**_ Draco thinks Hermione would make a great Slytherin._

**Word count: **564

Harry Potter and the associated characters and world are © J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"Hm."

Hermione groaned, it being the only sound in the library. It was almost curfew; had she not returned after the war for her seventh year and been given the position of Head Girl, she would have been in bed with all of the younger students. As it was, Malfoy's constant expressions of interest were testing her patience. "_What_, Malfoy?"

He smirked, her only just catching it as she pulled a different textbook for Ancient Runes towards her. "Chivalrous: nope."

She groaned again, burying her head in the book. The words described the practical application of runic knowledge, which was great, since that was what her essay, already covering two rolls of parchment, was about.

"Heh."

Her nose crinkled for the dozenth time in less minutes. Irritated, she threw down her quill and reached up to rub her eyes. She needed more sleep.

"Patient: not at all."

"Malfoy." She cleared her throat, remembering the agreement for civility. "_Draco_. What are you doing?"

"Sorting you," he declared, smirking snidely at her yet again.

"_Why_?"

"Because, Hermione Granger, no _way_ do _you_, of all people, belong in Gryffindor."

She slowly opened her eyes, eyeing him disdainfully. "_What_ are you _talking_ about?"

"Gryffindor's are too reckless. I get that heaps of people thought you should be in Ravenclaw, but according to this…"

She cut herself off before she could begin a well-rehearsed rant about all the reckless things she had done, mostly with Harry and the Weasley clan. She didn't trust his tone. "According to what?"

He shifted the text some that she could see the cover of – she stared at him – _the Quibbler_. Since when did Draco subscribe to Luna Lovegood's reading habits?

The answer had to do with a popular hatred of _the Daily Prophet_ that was endorsed by most returning students and encouraged by nine out of ten teachers. It had been a widely accepted push to read the Quibbler instead. Only Hermione still received _the Prophet_, something she did grudgingly and only to keep an eye on Death Eater numbers, as many were still in hiding. Malfoy was the only person who saw her burn the paper every night in their shared common room. "A sorting quiz. This thing, Hermione, thinks you should be a Slytherin."

"Rubbish," she stated drily.

"Aha, but it isn't. Are you not resourceful?"

Her nose crinkled again. "Yes, but –"

"Clever?"

"Yes…"

"Shrewd, adaptable, powerful?"

"Maybe, but I'm not at all traditional."

"You appreciate the traditions of learning, education and the rest of the world."

"That's not what Slytherin is about."

He leaned forward, his features still twisted into his trademark smirk. "We also have a certain disregard for the rules, so work that out."

"I am _not_ a –"

"Granger, brains of the Golden Trio. Finder of the Philosophers Stone. Discoverer of the Chamber of Secrets. Victor of the Battle of the Ministry. Friend of werewolves and convicts. And, most recently, defeater of the Dark Lord."

"All of that was Harry." Hermione was leaning forward as well now, whispering heatedly despite the fact that there was no one around to hear her.

"Who everybody knows was dependent on you." His drawl was becoming more insistent. "Face it, Hermione, you'd make a great Slytherin."

She narrowed her eyes, considering a sarcastic retort. Instead, she smirked and drew her book closer. "In that case, _you_ must be a Gryffindor."


	3. 03: Taking Offense

**Taking Offense**

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott

**Prompt 03:**_ Blaise and Theo replace Crabbe and Goyle._

**Word count: **669

Harry Potter and the associated characters and world are © J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Blaise was tall, lean and dark, his colouring too dark to just be Italian, the race of his mother. He didn't know who his father was and his mother wasn't exactly interested in monogamy. Thinking about it, Hermione had overheard some ignorant gossips at work raving about her 'gorgeous' dozenth husband. Apparently, all of the others were dead.

"It's a lie, you know, Granger."

"Huh?"

"The thing about my mother and her…dating habits."

"Yeah," Theo said, straddling the seat at the end of their booth. "Those gossips are missing about a hundred flings and twice as many mysterious deaths."

Hermione rolled her eyes as the two began to bicker. Her fingers itched to reach for the book she had hidden away in the robes she was wearing, but she had promised –

"Hello, Granger? Are you in there?"

She forced herself to the present, her eyes focusing abruptly on the dark, slanted eyes of Blaise Zabini. She yelped and launched herself backwards quickly, her bushy hair springing free of the knot she had forced it into. "Not so close!"

Theodore Nott's laughter drew the attention of the few wizards scattered around the Leaky Cauldron's dingy bar, but it did not draw the same disgruntled complaints as Blaise's cry of outrage. Hermione could not decide who to stare at: Theo's thin face was contorted by his laughter, to the point that she wondered if he was in pain, while Blaise was muttering furiously. His glare darted between the young woman and the other man, who, if not for his childish decision to straddle the chair, would surely have fallen to the floor.

When she finally realised exactly what was being mumbled, though, she couldn't help herself. She burst into a fit of giggles, strangled by her pathetic attempt at suppression.

"What!"

"Oh, Blaise," she managed, then could not continue due to her laughter.

Huffing irritably, he sat back in his seat, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. He remained in that position, though the topic of his muttering had changed, for the twenty minutes it took for their drinks to arrive, and for a certain pale blonde wizard to appear and observe the situation.

After a full minute of staring, he shook his head and slipped into his seat, nudging and shoving Hermione closer to the wall in order to make room. "What did you do, hit them with one of those bloody Weaselbee pranks?"

"Draco!" Hermione cried in an attempt at scolding, only to dissolve right back into laughter.

"I wish," Blaise snapped, glowering. "Bloody Granger here doesn't appreciate her fortune."

"Fortune," Theo managed to echo, wiping at his eyes. "You terrified the witch!"

The bickering began again, and with it, Hermione's laughter increased. This continued for several minutes before Draco decided to take matters into his own hands, silencing his three companions with an impatient "Silencio." Ignoring the appreciative thanks of the other drinkers, he produced a self-inking quill and parchment, pushing both towards Hermione. "Explain."

Her hands shaking with silent laughter, she picked up the quill and debated for a long moment, before scrawling an unsteady phrase on the page: _I am not Gregory Goyle_.

Draco stared at the words for a long moment before lifting the spell on Blaise and Theo, though the tip of his wand continued to spark dangerously as he rounded on them. He had near shouted himself hoarse, most of his words admonishing their apparent insults, before Hermione gained enough control of herself to get his attention and have him lift the spell.

"Blaise said it, you idiot," she stated fondly, "when I screamed in his face because he startled me."

"Oh," Draco said, still glaring. Then, a minute later, the glare fading, "_Oh_."

"You understand now."

"Yes. Yes, I think so. You're insane, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes, her hand still on his arm. "Thanks."

"Hey, shouldn't _I_ be the one getting thanked?"

"Whatever for?"

"Replacing those idiots you called friends, Draco. Along with Theodore, of course."

"Don't push it, Zabini."


	4. 04: Denied Dreams

**Denied Dreams**

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, implied Draco Malfoy, implied OC

**Prompt 04:**_ You know they would have gorgeous children._

**Word count: **939

Harry Potter and the associated characters and world are © J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Hogwarts has always been a strange place. Its' hallways twist and move and never seem to be the same twice in a row. There are seven noted floors, though that does not take the deep dungeons into account, with rooms hidden far below the Black Lake.

Rowena Ravenclaw herself had planned the movements of the staircases, though of course any patterns had been lost to time, maybe even due to her own actions, as with the loss of her Diadem. Salazar Slytherin had even contributed, allegedly creating the Chamber of Secrets and hiding it away in rumours and myth, its' existence undiscovered by the 'unworthy' for centuries.

There are halls exclusively for parties and rooms only for receiving students. Some are huge, some tiny; some change, like the ceiling of the Great Hall, and some never do, like filthy Dungeon Five. There are viaducts and bridges and doors that pretend to be walls, as well as walls that pretend to be doors and paintings that communicate more effectively than some people and portrayals of mermaids in stained-glass windows that cry as well as any human.

In this place of strangeness and magic, of course, objects have been hidden. The Room of Requirement, finally located again seven years after the war, still hides a maze of teetering towers comprised of the discarded possessions that had accumulate over the centuries. There is a vanishing cabinet on one floor, where a student once vanished for a night years ago, and was made terribly ill. The Philosophers' Stone would have remained hidden beneath the school for years, if not for the meddling of Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. The Chamber of Secrets, too, would still be no more than a myth if not for them, and the passage under the Whomping Willow a dream of dead men.

All of this passes through the mind of Hermione Granger in an instant, leaving her alone and without any more facts. Sitting alone in a disused classroom on the fourth floor, the new Transfiguration professor no longer has a means to comfort herself, no thoughts left to distract her curious mind from the object before her.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

"I show not your face but your hearts' desire," Hermione reads in a whisper, her lips barely moving: she has found the Mirror of Erised.

She can recall Harry's story of the thing, of Dumbledore's vague warnings and his own miracles. The happiest man on Earth would look into it and it would behave as a normal mirror, because they desired nothing more than what they had. Her curiosity has her wishing that she knew more of its' history, not just its' modification under Dumbledore's care. Her rationalisation pushes the impossibility of lost history aside, and she feels something cold against her legs: at some point, she has sat upon a desk opposite the Mirror.

Her reflection is sitting in a light filled room, a large window behind her displaying a beautiful day in a countryside, the sky grey enough to justify staying indoors, but still pleasant. A man at her side leans down to kiss her on the cheek, lips moving as though he is speaking. It seems so very _real_ – but, though she swears she feels the kiss, the real her hears nothing out of place.

The man moves to sit beside the reflection of Hermione, revealing what he has in his arms. The baby, a boy, has his eyes open, just as warm and bright as her own. A neat covering of near-white hair dusts the top of his head, marking him forever as his fathers' son.

As if this isn't enough of a blow to Hermione, a young girl, probably no more than five years old, steps into the frame. Her small hands clutch a book, the golden words _Quidditch through the Ages_ catching the light. She peers hopefully up at her father, her hair, a shade darker than his, curling uncontrollably. When she lifts the book, her pale grey eyes pleading, Hermione can practically hear the gorgeous little girl begging her father to read to her. Her heart goes out to the girl, desperately wishing to reach out and pull her close, even though she knows that she is not real.

The Hermione being reflected back at her smiles sadly, and, though the real woman does not move, she lifts a trembling hand to wipe away a tear. The little girl perches beside her, hugging her arm tightly, but her movements are not hindered. Dimly, the witch wonders if this is what insanity was like, to watch her reflection fall into a depression separate from her own, because, even though the entire purpose of the Mirror is to reflect ones' deepest desires, she is far too rational for the lie to take hold. Even the woman who lives in the dream world cannot believe it exists.

Dumbledore had said that it did not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. All through the second war, travelling around the UK with Harry, she had figured that he had known what he was talking about. He was so old and seemed so wise, and Skeeter's slanderous book said as much.

Staring at the reflection of a dream, Hermione is no longer so certain. The world is against the possibility of her and Draco ever being romantically involved, she knows this.

And yet her deepest desire is to have a happy, safe, beautiful family with him, and no one else. Judgement be damned.

Too bad she cannot convince herself that she doesn't care what anyone else thinks.


	5. 05: A Surprising Turn of Events

**A Surprising Turn of Events**

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger

**Prompt 05:**_ Hermione will always defend Draco._

**Word count: **1,167

Harry Potter and the associated characters and world are © J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"Draco Malfoy," called the wizard acting as Chief Warlock for the purposes of this particular Hearing. In the chair, chained in place, a quite defeated young man looked up at him reluctantly. His pale blonde hair, streaked with dirt, fell into his eyes, the grey not quite as lifeless as those of a man who had been kissed by a Dementor. "You have been brought from Azkaban to face trial for your crimes in service to Lord Voldemort."

His thin lips contorted into a grimace as he flinched, and Draco looked down at his lap. His robes, though filthy, were his only comfort from the Dementors' outside. They didn't help him any more against the hostile stares of the Wizengamot than they had against the endless cold of Azkaban.

"Do you have any requests before we begin?"

Draco quietly voiced his answer. Though it wasn't the proud "No" that the crowd expected, the request that they skip the list and just find him guilty, "get it over with", went unheeded. This was not for lack of desire to oblige the poor young man, barely out of childhood; the Wizengamot had better things to busy themselves with. No, Draco Malfoy's request for lenience and a quick trial was rejected only because of a certain bushy-haired brunette heroine, her warm brown eyes fixed into a mildly intimidating glare.

Hermione Granger, it seemed, had a new cause. This time, it wasn't house elf rights, either.

"I," she said, as calm as though she was speaking to a room of her friends, "will speak for Mister Malfoy, thank you."

Some of those looking on shuddered; her voice was like ice. The Chief Warlock cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, I assure you that this is not necessary. The evidence –"

"I was there, Marchworth. I know all about the evidence. Begin."

The Chief Warlock, Marchworth, cleared his throat uncomfortably. Hermione Granger was renowned for her incredible protectionist attitude, particularly towards lost causes. Unfortunately, the witch was a celebrated war hero and seemed to have grown arrogant with the amount of approval her revolutionary ideas had been met with. Marchworth knew this wasn't exactly arrogance, but rather pride that the wizarding world was becoming unstuck in its' traditions. It was horrible. "Use of Legilimency to further his own ends."

"Not actually a crime worthy of anything greater than a fine. Legilimency is merely a skill that some wizards happen to master. I believe Dumbledore himself was proficient."

"Cursing Katie Bell with an opal necklace."

"An accident, and besides, she never pressed charges." Not that she knew he was responsible for her stint in St Mungos, but still.

"Poisoning of Ronald Weasley."

There was a sharp intake of breath as the Wizengamot anticipated an enraged response, as Draco hung his head further in apparent shame. Hermione, however, had apparently managed to come up with some form of justification. "Unintentional. On top of that, Ron did not die and was out of hospital in a few days. _Also_, Ronald was technically already poisoned beforehand; arguably, this should be Romilda Vane's crime. If not hers, then perhaps Horace Slughorn. A potions master really ought to be able to identify poisons _before_ serving them to his students, I think you'll agree."

Marchworth was beginning to become visibly flustered. "Attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore and enabling the penetration of Hogwarts by Death Eaters."

She actually snorted at this. "Attempted assassination of a man who was planning to die already, and on that same night? Yes, Marchworth, such a _dastardly_ deed. Mister Malfoy had no choice in the mater. Earlier that year, due to the actions of his aunt – perhaps you've heard of Bellatrix Lestrange? She made my acquaintance by torturing and almost murdering me – Voldemort was able to force him into an Unbreakable Vow. On top of that, his entire family was at risk if he resisted. Are you proposing that an entire family deserved to die because of one insane relative, and another mans' failure at killing Harry Potter?"

The stammered reply of the huge man was lost to Draco's ears, though he was no longer quite so void of hope. He had been listening to the words that came from Hermione's lips, and it had occurred to him that they were all being said with the intention of saving him.

_Hermione Granger_, a girl he had tormented for _years_, was fighting for _him_?

No longer listening and not so tense any more, Draco mulled over his current predicament. He had admired Hermione for years, yes. Probably if he was asked to pinpoint an exact date that this pull had started, he would name the Yule Ball in their fourth year, if only because he had never seen her so _comfortable_ before. There was also the time she had punched him in the face, because she had seemed so very _alive_ at the time, or even her hexing him in defence of Potter.

Perhaps he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, after all.

He was suddenly rather aware of a lightness about his arms, and a fleeting glance leant him an explanation: the chains had coiled away. The Wizengamot were moving around, leaving. He lifted his head, surprised. "I'm…"

Hermione smiled a little, kneeling before him. She did not allow for any protests, instead gently taking his hands and turning his arms to examine the red marks left by the chains. "You're free to go, Draco, yes. Haven't you been listening?"

He wasn't even listening now, as it turned out. His grey eyes were following her movements as if transfixed; he watched as she produced a lilac, foul-smelling cream and began to apply it to the marks, causing a sensation not unlike a burn. He tensed, and a full minute passed before he realised that she had been waiting for him to speak.

"I didn't catch that," he confessed, his hoarse voice cracking. Hermione smiled sadly, moving to stand.

"I asked if the burning had stopped. Kleen is meant to only sting for thirty seconds."

"Oh," he said. Then, "It stopped."

She nodded slightly, believing that he now wanted her gone. _After all_, she reasoned, _I've fulfilled my use for him, minimising Lucius' sentence and abolishing Narcissa's and his._

"Why are you crying?" His hoarse voice cut the silence, startling her, and she looked back at him.

"I'm not crying. Well, actually, I am, but, but, it's stupid."

"Hermione."

Her heart broke with his voice, at the sound of her given name on his lips, and she hung her head like a saddened child. "You want me to go away, but you still need help. You need me to defend you. Always."

"What?"

She closed her eyes, covering them with her hands. "I'm sorry," she squeaked.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, and she heard him stand up. She said nothing at all, and then stiff, warm arms were around her in an embrace that had her burning.

"If you want to defend me, go ahead. Just don't leave."


End file.
